


The House on the Hill (definitely nothing spooky there)

by Yeetle_Beetle



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Blood Drinking, F/F, F/M, Human/Vampire Relationship, I don't give a fuck about historical accuracy only sexy vampires, I mean, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Seduction, Sort Of, Vampire Bites, Vampire Sex, oh yeah, she's into it, she's just confused, watch out for that kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-23 00:03:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23302537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeetle_Beetle/pseuds/Yeetle_Beetle
Summary: Rosie Fairn is new in town.  Morbond Deep is a strange village, tucked in a remote valley with many legends about the woods around it.  Rosie moved there for that reason.  Always fascinated with strange tales of spirits in the woods, she's come hunting for an adventure, and when several of the village folk ask her to take some wine to the nobles that live on the hill, the very mysterious nobles who are spoken of in hushed voices and frightened whispers, how can she refuse?
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 13





	The House on the Hill (definitely nothing spooky there)

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway, this is kind of the product of reading to many horny vampire posts on tumblr and I got sad enough that I had to write this down. Enjoy :)

Rosie, new in town as she was, hadn’t even been aware there  _ was  _ a mansion in the woods to deliver too. But everyone at the tavern had seemed very insistent that she be the one to take the bottles of special wine to the Lord and Lady Larksend. (Who she had also never heard of)

“They’re having, ah, a small gathering of sorts,” the barkeep, Philip, said, looking very nervous for some reason, “And well, all of us are occupied with our, uh, preparations.”

“What preparations?” she wondered aloud. Was there a festival she hadn’t heard about? The small town of Morbond Deep was remote, and she knew little of it’s traditions.

“Uh,” the man stuttered, elbowing the local tanner in the ribs, “Sven! Tell her about the preparations!”

The other man startled, spilling half his drink down his shirt. “Oh! Yes, well- Each year, we wait for just the proper- Well, that is to say, the proper... “ He trailed off, looking desperately over to Philip once again.

“The proper night to mend fences!” the tavern keeper blurted out. “Yes. Uh, it has to be just the right conditions, to mend fences, or the forest spirits get mad,” he finished.

“Oh, yes,” Sven said, “If we do it wrong, they get offended and we’re cursed for the whole year, until we can do it properly again.”

Rosie looked at them skeptically. While she may be new in town, she wasn’t an idiot. They were definitely hiding something. But really,  _ everyone _ had been insistent she do this. The ladies in her knitting group, the shopkeep at the trading post, even her employer at the bakery had all told her that Philip the barkeep had a job for her, and only her. “Well..” she began, but he cut her off.

“I’ll give you ten gold for your troubles!” he said almost desperately. Her eyes widened.  _ That _ was another matter entirely. Ten gold went far in a small town like this, and she had been eyeing a new pair of stockings. The winter’s chill here seemed to sweep through her old, silk ones.

She chewed on her bottom lip, taking in the two men before her. Mrs. Dere, one of the kind women who had taken her in, leaned forward, her two small children hanging off her skirt, and said, “Rosie dear, won’t you? It’s usually Old Anne’s job, but this winter’s been so hard on her joints, you remember? It’s such a long walk, and uphill most of the way, she’s really not in the state for it. Be a dear?” Her eyes were pleading, guileless. 

Rosie remembered meeting Old Anne, and immediately blanched at the thought of making the kind, frail old woman make such a journey. Outside, the wind howled and shutters banged against the walls of the tavern. “Of course I can, anything for her.”

The whole room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, even patrons who hadn’t appeared to be listening turned back to their drinks and conversations. Had the whole tavern been on edge? Really, she wasn’t about to let an arthritic old lady walk through such a storm, what must they think of her?

“Oh, thank you  _ ever _ so much,” Philip was saying, shoving a large basket into her arms. It was heavy, packed full of thick, glass bottles, the wine inside dark and glossy, the color of garnets. 

She was practically shoved out the door, directions and coin thrust at her on the way out. “Just follow the main road North until the fork in the road. Take the smaller of the two, the one going West, and keep going up into the hills. You won’t get lost, I assure you.” A heavy woolen cloak was also shoved into her arms as the door of the tavern slammed behind her. She was pretty sure she heard the heavy thud of a bar going down across it, too.

“Well,” Rosie said to no one, “I suppose I’d better get going then. Wouldn’t want to mess up their precious fence fixing ritual,” she grumbled, throwing the cloak over her dress. She sighed once more as she looked down and realized she was in no way dressed to meet with a Lord and Lady. Her chemise was simple homespun cotton, with a thin woolen kirtle worn over it that in no way kept out the wind. She shivered, snow stinging her face like needles.  _ Blast, _ she really needed to get those woolen stockings. She grumbled to herself as she trudged through the snow, out of the town.

It was very dark, and although the moon was near full, the thick cloud cover kept most of its light from view. The blowing snow cut like a knife through her clothing, and she was shivering within minutes. The only sounds were the crunch of her feet through the snow and the creaking, whistling of the wind through the trees.

When she reached the fork in the road, her cheeks and tip of her nose was near numb, and the basket seemed much heavier than when she began. But she turned West anyway, and kept trudging through the hills. This path was far less traveled, the trees seeming to have partially reclaimed it, looming over her in a gigantic arch. One particularly strong gust of wind had her skirts flying up around her waist and a large crack spilt the air behind her. She turned just in time to see a massive pine tree fall and block the path not five yards back. “Well,” she said to herself, sensibly, “That is a problem for the way back,” and kept moving forwards. 

Time soon lost all meaning. Rosie had no idea how long she’d been walking through these woods, perhaps an hour, maybe more, maybe less. But the trees seemed endless, the climb unrelenting, the path spiraling. She had changed directions so many times, switchbacking up the hill, that she’d lost all sense of where she’d come from.

“I don’t believe they’d make Old Anne do this, anytime,” she grumbled, “Even if she were the peak of health.” If they did, she’d have to take it up with Mrs. Dere. Imagine, making a little old lady make this climb, even once a year! Thankfully, her job at the bakery left her strong and solid. Between lifting heavy sacks of flour and kneading massive amounts of bread dough every day, she had amassed a good bit of muscle. Working in a bakery also gave her ample access to sweets of every kind, leaving her curves and edges soft and round. (The village children said she gave very good hugs because of this)

Several times, Rosie thought she might stop and rest, but something kept pulling her on.  _ I’ll stop and rest under that tree, _ she thought,  _ where the boughs have blocked the snow. There’s bound to be a hollow there. _ But when she reached it, she found that she could not stop. Something compelled her forward.  _ Well that’s annoying,  _ she huffed to herself,  _ Oh well, I’ll get there sooner this way, _ and continued on. She wasn’t the type to frighten so easily. Perhaps this was the work of one of the ‘forest spirits’ the villagers had mentioned, who watched over the fence fixing tonight. 

“Terribly sorry I’m not fixing fences,” she called into the trees, “But your people in the village sent me here, so if you’ve got a problem, talk to them, not me. I’m just trying to get this errand done.”  _ There, _ she thought,  _ that ought to help. Bloody haunted forests. _ She got no reply, but continued on as if nothing had happened.

Rosie walked on for another undeterminable ways, when finally, a glimmer of light shone through the trees. She broke into a wide clearing, the trees cut so the massive, sprawling mansion could look out over the valley below. She could see the pinpricks of light in the bowl of it, the village. Had she really walked all that way?

She shook herself. The sooner she got this done, the sooner she could return. (And never do this again) She tried to brush some of the frost and snow off herself, grimacing at the unpleasant pink flush of exertion and cold above the neckline of her dress, just baring the tops of her breasts. This  _ really _ wasn’t the proper outfit to greet nobles in, even if she was just an errand girl. Still, the basket was heavy in the crook of her elbow, reminding of what needed to be delivered.

She marched up to the towering mansion, made of dark, smooth wood, each window glowing with merry golden light. She wondered briefly how, in her months of living in Morbond Deep, she had never seen it in the hills from below.

Rosie climbed up to the stone platform at the door, knocking some of the excess snow off her boots, and brushing some of the ice and snow that had accumulated in her hair off one more time. She reached out and knocked on the great, oak door. Almost immediately, it was opened, and a very pale, very handsome woman greeted her.

“ _ Oh, _ hello, darling,” she purred, “You must be from the village. And with our wine, how delightful.” She was dressed in a fine silken ball gown, a deep, wine red, with a plunging neckline. Her dark, shiny hair was pulled into an elegant hairstyle that, combined with the dress, bared her lovely neck and throat. Her face was smooth and ageless, and Rosie was sure she couldn’t even guess how old she was. She was startlingly pale, save for plump, ruby-painted lips and dark circles under equally dark eyes. Rosie found herself swallowing heavily, her own eyes widening as she took in the marvelous creature before her.

“Um, yes,” she stuttered, thrusting the basket forward, “Here you are.” Oh dear, now she really was embarrassed. She always flushed so horribly with exertion, Rosie was sure she was red-faced, out of breath, and horribly bedraggled by the wind in front of this elegant woman.

The woman (possibly Lady Larksend?) took it, her movements confident and graceful, and wow, she was so tall, too. “Thank you  _ so _ very much dear, our guests have just arrived, and we feared we’d have nothing to serve them.” Her voice was low and smooth, with a ringing quality to it,  _ perhaps she’s a singer, _ Rosie thought, _ she’d be wonderful at that. _ Though a woman like this was probably wonderful at just about anything.

“Oh, no problem,” Rosie squeaked, “uh, my Lady. I, um, ought to get going. Let you get back to your guests. Sorry about the wait. Um, thank you.” And was about to turn away, when the woman reached out and took her hand.

“Oh, won’t you stay? It’s such a long ways down the hill, and in  _ such _ a storm too. I would feel terrible, letting such a darling, young thing like you back out into the cold.” Her voice was so rich and deep, like fine chocolate they put in the pastries at work.

“I really shouldn’t,” Rosie protested weakly, but not removing her hand from the other’s, “I could never impose on your gathering like this, and I’m certainly not dressed for it.”

“Nonsense,” the woman trilled, tugging Rosie inside, “We have room enough for plenty, and I couldn’t bear if something were to happen to you if we sent you away. Such nasty things lurk in the woods, you know.” This was said with a graceful smile, her perfect teeth bright and polished. Rosie thought back to the odd pulling sensations she had felt in the woods, and nodded solemnly. 

“Ah, husband,” the woman announced suddenly, looking across the foyer, where an equally beautiful man had appeared, “I’m happy to announce our wine has arrived, and so has a new guest.”

“Excellent,” the man said, his voice a deep, bassy rumble, “The more, the merrier. And what is our fine lady’s name?” He picked up the hand his wife wasn’t holding and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. He was as enchanting as his wife, with equally pale skin, shining dark eyes and bright, cornsilk hair swept back away from his face. Dressed in a beautifully embroidered velvet coat with a lovely cream shirt beneath it and silk cravat around his neck, he was every bit the Lord of this house.

“Oh, I’ve been so swept up in my excitement I’ve completely forgotten to ask. Won’t you give us your name, darling?” The woman’s dark eyes turned back onto Rosie, who felt tingles sweep over her skin, her gaze almost palpable. Something in the back of her mind warned her about the phrasing,  _ giving _ her name to something, but she ignored it. She couldn’t very well be rude to her hosts, and such lovely ones, at that.

“Rosie, madam, Rosie Fairn,” and gave a half-hearted curtsy, as much as she could with her arm trapped in the woman’s grip.

“Oh, none of that ‘madam’ nonsense, dear. Call me Diana, and there is my husband Morgan. Come, let us get you out of those cold, wet things. I’m sure we can find you something that fits in our closets.” As Diana, er- Lady Larksend, wound her arm more securely around Rosie’s waist, she noticed Lord Larksend close the oak door behind them, locking it, and slipping the shining gold key into his coat. She also noticed that Lady Larksend’s arm was like iron, with no give whatsoever. Perhaps she was just weak with exhaustion from her climb, Rosie thought.

As Lady Larksend led her up the grand flight of stairs, she asked, “Now Rosie, I must say I haven’t seen you before, are you new in Morbond Deep?” Her voice kept the same low, musical quality, smooth and soft.

“Ah, yes,” Rosie found herself saying, “I came into town last spring. I wanted an adventure, and figured this would be the best place to find it. I’ve heard such wonderful stories about the woods here.”

“Oh, no, darling, only terrible things inhabit these woods. Nothing but horrible creatures who prey upon the innocent few unlucky enough to wander into their arms.” Lady Larksend’s eyes were shining with amusement, and she looked back to her husband with a clever smile, as if they were sharing a private joke. “Isn’t that right, love?”

“Of course, my Lady. It is because of this we simply  _ can’t _ let you walk back to town. After all, tonight is a  _ very _ special night,” he intoned, moving silently up the stairs behind them. Rosie found it hard to stay focused on the woman leading her forward with his gaze prickling the back of her head. She wanted very much to turn and look at him, to keep them both in her sight, but couldn’t, without being rude to the Lady. 

“What is it you do in town, Ms. Fairn?” he asked, “Is it Ms? Not Mrs?”

“Oh, I work in the bakery,” Rosie said, trying to keep her voice level. Lady Larksend’s hand and arms were quite chill, and she kept putting them in distracting places that she hadn’t known were so sensitive. “And no, it is Ms.”

“ _ Good, _ ” he almost purred, and the hair on Rosie’s neck stood on end.

“Oh, that sounds absolutely  _ wonderful, _ ” the other woman said, “And what do you do there, what sort of things do you make?”

“Anything really,” she responded, trying to come up with something,  _ anything,  _ interesting to say. “I’m the opener, so I get there early and put the prooved loaves from last night in to bake, and start shaping the sweet dough for pastries.”

“An early bird, how nice. I’m afraid my husband and I are more night owls,” she said, smiling again like she had said something very amusing. They were now leading Rosie down a hallway, lined with portraits, some of which looked very old indeed. 

“A baker, how fitting. It only seems right that one so sweet makes such sweet things.” Lord Larksend’s voice was suddenly right next to her ear, and she jumped in the Lady’s arms. She hadn’t heard him move at  _ all! _

“Darling, stop scaring our guest!” Lady Larksend’s laugh was as musical as her voice, “You’ll chase her right away, and then where would we be? We’d have no one to pass the night away with.”

Rosie cleared her throat, swallowing thickly, “Oh, but you have other guests. You have other guests! Surely you should go attend to them, I’m sure I’ve taken enough of your time already.”

“Nonsense, dear. They are just old friends, they’ll happily wait for us to attend to more  _ important needs _ ,” she simpered, looking Rosie up and down as she said this. They stopped outside a double door, intricately carved symbols and words in a language she didn’t understand. “Here, we’ll find you some suitable garments. I’ve so many old things, I’m sure one of them will fit you.” At this, she turned, and made a shooing motion with her hand. “Husband, off you pop. Darling Rosie is right, go attend to our guests. And we can’t have you peeking in on us either, you mad letcher.” This was said with a sly smile, the same amusement flickering in her eyes.

The Lord merely tipped his head, “Alas, I fear you’re right. I shall let them know we have a visitor from the village, and make sure they’re on their  _ best _ behavior.” He looked up at Rosie, eyes shining with something dark and dangerous. “They can be such  _ animals _ sometimes, and we wouldn’t want such a delicate rose to be crushed.” His voice seemed double layered, deep and rich. Rosie could only nod in silence as he kissed her hand once more, his lips cool to the touch. He did the same with his wife, only mouthing his way up her hand to her wrist, where he caressed the skin deeply, sensually, before breaking away and moving soundlessly back the way they’d come. Rosie found herself flushing  _ again _ and looked away, examining one of the lovely portraits. 

Lady Larksend merely let out a pleased hum, and turned to open the door. Inside was an absolutely massive canopied bed, piled high with pillows, sheets and silks. The large windows were covered with long, velvet drapes, yet another display of wealth and finery. A door on the left wall appeared to open into a washroom, with another door beside it. 

Lady Larksend led her over to the closed door, and threw it open. Inside was a truly massive closet, filled to the brim with fine dresses of every cut, material and color. “Well,” she sighed breezily, “I think we can find you something in here,” and began rifling through the hangers and racks. 

“Milady, really, this isn’t necessary, I can just-” She was cut off with a finger to her lips.

“Darling, I told you to call me Diana,” the other woman shushed.

“Diana then, but I can’t take one of your dresses, really. Just give me some servant’s clothes and I can eat in the kitchens, I really shouldn’t intrude on your dinner party.”

“Oh, but now my husband’s already told them you’re dining with us, they’ll be  _ so _ disappointed if you don’t,” she said, pulling out various dresses, examining them, and putting them back, “And besides, it’s so rare we get  _ new blood _ these days, it will be so refreshing to have you at the table.” There it was again, like she was laughing at a secret joke! 

At last, she pulled something from the rack she seemed to approve of, and held it up to Rosie. “Well, I think this will look just  _ darling _ on you,” she smiled. It was a pale pink gown, made of silk and tulle, with a gausey layered skirt and an off-the-shoulder neckline that would bare her shoulders and collarbones. Diana was bustling around the closet, pulling open drawers and boxes, muttering to herself. “Oh, yes, that will do nicely. And we must have the proper accessories as well, are your ears pierced darling?” She was suddenly right in front of her, Rosie could smell the light, musky perfume she was wearing. This close, she could truly see how fathomless and dark her eyes were. “You do,” she purred, “Excellent.” And dropped a pair of earrings, dripping with pink topaz into her hand. 

Oh dear, this was going a bit too far. These earrings were worth more than her  _ life.  _ “Milady- Diana,” she cut herself off, “I can’t possibly-”

“And of course the pearls,” a long string of pearls was dropped into her hand as well, “And we mustn't forget the hairpins.” Her hands were suddenly twirling a lock of Rosie’s hair around one slim finger. “You’ve got such lovely hair,” she mused, “So soft,” she gave a cheeky wink and tugged it once before letting go, smiling full of teeth once again. They were  _ so _ white and did they look sharper?

Rosie found herself with all of this piled in her hands, along with the dress, in the center of the room. “Now,” Diana said, “I must join dear Morgan downstairs, before he bores them all to death. You stay and get dressed, and come downstairs when you’re ready.  _ Do _ take your time, we want you as lovely as can be.” Diana patted her cheek once, then swept out of the room, closing the doors behind her. 

Rosie stood in shock in the center of the room for a moment, still struck from how quickly this had all happened. How, she didn’t know, but apparently she was having dinner with the Lord and Lady. As she slowly unlaced the back of her kirtle, she wondered if Old Anne got the same treatment when she came with the wine. Both the Lord and Lady were both  _ so _ kind and  _ so _ beautiful. And very  _ alluring. _ Neither of them seemed to mind the way the other talked to her, such  _ flattery. _ Perhaps this was a game they played whenever someone came to visit, to rile each other up. Yes, that was probably it, she thought, stepping out of the pooled wool on the floor.

She sighed, looking at the dress Lady Diana had picked out for her. Her chemise, with it’s short sleeves, couldn’t be worn with it, as it would show above the neckline. The Lady seemed to have anticipated this, and picked out several undergarments for her. A thin petticoat of fine linen and a set of stays that would lace in the front, so she could tighten it by herself, and go under the dress. 

She shucked off her chemise, and pulled the petticoat over her hips, letting it rest at her waist. The stays were harder to get on, and required her to remove her breast band as well. Lacing it up was quite the job, but the end result was lovely. The garment defined her waist and hips, and pressed her breasts up quite pleasantly. The stiff whalebone also straightened her spine, and she found herself standing taller with it. She slipped the dress on over the new undergarments, now thankful for the precautions, as the gown was meant to fit very tight to her sides and chest. Without the extra support of the stays, she would have feared it would rip if she moved wrong. It also straightened her back in such a way that seemed to extend her neck, and made her stand taller. But it was lovely and soft and made a wonderful swishing sound when she spun. 

The topaz earrings were a new weight, and tapped against her skin whenever she moved her head. The long string of pearls was made to wrap once around her neck as a choker, and the rest hung in a long loop down to rest against her chest, where they sat, cool against her skin. Frankly, Rosie had no idea what to do with her hair. The most she did at home was throw it up in a bun for work, and leave it brushed out at leisure. Sighing, she pulled half of it up into a bun, like she had seen some of the women in town do, and secured it with the hairpins, covered in delicate flowers made of gold. The vanity in the corner had a small, dusty mirror on it, and she checked her reflection. 

Her cheeks were still flushed with cold, or perhaps just embarrassment now, and the hair looked kind of stupid, but she was at least halfway presentable. Sighing one last time, she fiddled with everything once more, before realizing she couldn’t possibly stall any longer. She exited the room, and descended the stairs, trying very hard not to trip and fall over the beautiful skirt. 

Finding the dining room proved to be the next task. Lady Diana had neglected to tell her where it was, so Rosie was forced to hunt for it. She heard a murmur of low voices coming from across the foyer, adjacent from the stairs, and walked towards the closed doors.

She gave a tentative knock, and just like before, the door was opened almost the moment her hand left it. Lord Morgan greeted her, a charming smile on his face, “Darling, at last you’ve come to join us. We were beginning to wonder if you’d ran away,” and drew her into the room. One of his hands rested on the small of her back, guiding her forward, the other grasping one of her own. The other guests tittered like he’d said something very funny.

They were beautiful and pale like the Larksends, all with very dark eyes, fine clothing, and strangely graceful movement. There were about ten of them, all seated around a rectangular table, fine china spread about it. On their plates were surprisingly small portions, and each of them had a glass filled with the dark wine she had brought. The room was made of the same dark wood as the rest of the house, with gleaming white drapes and a massive crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. 

Lord Morgan was introducing her, “And here is our final guest, Ms. Rosie Fairn. She was ever so kind to brave this horrid weather and deliver our drink for the evening, and we just can’t bear to let her go quite yet. Isn’t she darling?”

The others at the table all nodded and agreed, one saying, “You were indeed correct when you said ‘Rosie’ was a fitting name, my Lord.” When she blushed again, the room was filled once more with cooing and murmurings of delight. 

“She’s darling,” another woman said, taking a sip from her glass, “From the village I presume?” The liquid stained her lips a darker shade of red. 

“Yes, she works as a baker there, but she’s new in town.” Now he had guided her to a chair, his arms like iron as well, but she couldn’t find it in herself to push against them with any real force. After he pushed her chair into the table, he sat himself, and Rosie noticed, with some surprise, that she was seated in between him and his wife.

“Oh, how wonderful,” the woman said, “So refreshing to see someone new for a change. We’ve all gotten  _ so _ tired of the same old faces. You simply  _ must _ tell us every little thing about yourself.”

Rosie was about to say there was absolutely nothing interesting about her, when Lady Diana interrupted, “Well, now that we’re all here, we ought to eat. Especially you dear,” she said to Rosie, “You’ve had such an awful trek up the hill. You need your strength, eat.”

“Oh, she’ll need her strength, all right,” a dark-haired man across the table muttered into his glass, a hint of a smile on his face. Rosie barely caught the comment, but his companion sure did. The other man’s lips thinned as he elbowed the first in the side. She had a feeling that his statement was not something to be said aloud. One look at her hosts confirmed this, as both the Lord and Lady’s faces were thunderous, their eyes seeming to grow darker, colder, cowing the dark-haired man into submission. He sank a little lower in his chair, and looked back to his food.

Speaking of food, none of the others seemed to have touched their plates. The most they did was push it around with their silverware, but never taking a bite. Rosie, already halfway through her plate, could see nothing wrong with the meal, but perhaps they had already enjoyed appetizers before she arrived, and simply weren’t hungry. They did partake heavily in the wine, though, each guest going through about three glasses each, although Rosie was not offered any. 

The meal continued in this way for half an hour. A guest would ask about her life in Morbond Deep, she would answer, and they would all laugh and smile as if it had been the funniest, most interesting thing they had ever heard. Then someone (usually the Larksends) would compliment her again on how lovely she looked, how soft her hair seemed, and could they touch it? Several times, one of the Larksends would take her hand in theirs and make a show of it. Once, Lord Morgan even kissed up to her wrist the same way he had with his wife’s outside their bedchamber! In full view of said wife and the entire dinner party. Rosie had thought she might explode with nerves and strange excitement. The other guests seemed terribly interested in these interactions, and seemed to titter, shooting knowing glances from across the table.

Towards the end of the meal, when Rosie had finally cleaned her plate, the Larksends began their real antics. Conversation had drifted away from her (though attention still lingered, she could still feel at least one person’s eyes on her the entire meal) to more mundane things, such as how business was doing, or the rubber trade across the sea. Lord Morgan seemed to notice her empty plate and said to his wife, “Well, I think we ought to give our lovely Rose a tour, what say you, my love?” 

Dabbing delicately at her lips with a napkin, she replied, “That sounds like a wonderful idea, darling. Rosie dear, won’t you accompany us?” and stood up, still holding one of Rosie’s hands in her own. 

“Oh, but I don’t want to be rude, your friends here-” 

“Oh, never mind us,” one of them said, “We’re perfectly capable of entertaining ourselves for a time. Do be gentle, old friends, she seems  _ so _ lovely.” This he said to the nobles, who were drawing her irrevocably out of the room. The others at the table all wore knowing smiles, like wolves closing in on their prey.

As the door shut again behind them, she turned to her hosts, and asked, “What did he mean by that? Gentle in what?”

“Never you mind, darling, Simon just likes to tease,” Lady Diana said, ushering her along the hallway, “We’ve much to see of this old house.”

“But-” her protests went unheeded as the couple drew her further into the house. As They went along, they talked about every room and painting along the walls, most of them portraits like she’d seen in the upstairs hall. They described each subject like they’d known them personally, even though some of them looked to be centuries old.

Eventually, they’d wandered back to the upstairs hall, close to the bedchamber once again. Throughout the tour, their hands had been increasingly wandering, one around her waist, settling low over her hips. The brush of a mouth over her ear as they murmured about a painting. It was maddening. By this point, Rosie was so flustered and blushing she could hardly think straight. What on earth their endgame was, she didn’t want to think about, but let herself be guided down the hallway without protest, though she doubted she would be able to do anything against them anyway. 

“And this was dear Frederick,” Lady Diana crooned in her ear, “He was  _ such _ a little spitfire. Always lots of fun, up for anything he was.” The man in the painting was broad and well-muscled, with a serious face, and a scar across his brow. 

“What happened to him?” she found herself asking.

“Oh, he died, I’m afraid,” Lord Morgan was suddenly pressed against her other side, leaving her trapped between the two of them, “Natural causes, I assure you. He lived a long and happy life with us.”

“Oh,” she swallowed, “He was your... lover?” 

She felt him smile against her neck, “Now you’re getting it.”

“Um. But this painting is dated a century back. How..?”

“ _ Darling, _ ” Lady Diana purred, equally close, “You think too much. Come, let us distract you,” and Rosie felt another set of lips against her neck, this time no longer just brushing over the skin, but nipping and kissing along their way.

“ _ Oh, _ ” she gasped, “Oh, well-” something sharper than it should be grazed her pulse point, and everything clicked into place. “Well, I’m an idiot,” she gasped.

“Hush, darling,” one of them crooned, “It took poor Fredrick almost a week to figure it out, you’re doing very well.” A hand wound its way into her hair, gently tugging her head back, baring her neck further. Another set of lips descended, working their way up the column of her throat. 

“Ah-” she gasped, relaxing back into their grip, not entirely sure if she was even supporting her own weight anymore.

“Oh, now she’s got it,” Lord Morgan smiled, and she felt one of his hands drift across the front of her gown. “Darling, you did fabulously with her, she looks exquisite,” he groaned. 

“Thank you love,” Diana hummed, “I had an excellent canvas.”

“Truely, I thought Merchelo was going to combust. You  _ know _ he has a weakness for such soft prizes.”

“She  _ does _ look good enough to eat.” Rosie was pushed back against the wall, two sets of hands roaming her body. One slipped under her skirt to caress her upper thigh, brushing over the tops of her stockings and garters. Another pushed the neckline of her dress down a little further, undoing a few of the clasps at the back. The tops of her breasts had been exposed throughout the evening, but now that the silk outer dress was pushed away, it left even more skin free for marauding lips. 

Clever fingers worked open the very top of the stays, leaving her breasts almost spilling out, still pushed up by the garment. Lord Morgan left her neck and bent to kiss along the sensitive skin there, dipping almost low enough to enclose her pebbled nipple, still hiding under the fabric. Lady Diana was mouthing along her inner wrist, a place she had no idea was so sensitive, but  _ gods, _ was it ever. Eventually, she pulled it up and pinned it to the wall at her back, leaning in to attack her neck once more. Lord Morgan stepped closer between her legs, two hands on her thighs lifting her effortlessly, 

Rosie had  _ surely  _ turned to jelly at this point. Everything felt  _ so good.  _ Her hair was half-falling out of its bun, her cheeks flushed, and two very beautiful people were currently attached to her by their lips. She was in no condition to complain. 

The two of them had completely lifted her off her feet now, back braced against the wall, skirts rucked high as the man between her legs ground into her. Rosie let out a whine as she felt the hardness of him, muffled by his wife’s lips against hers. They were cool to the touch, just like every part of them, and soothed a little of the heat burning through her veins. 

“Oh, husband, none of that, we can’t just have her here in the corridor. She’s much too precious for that.” With a grip that brooked no disagreements, Lady Diana turned Rosie’s head to the side to face her. The woman’s eyes were as dark as before, but now dancing with mischief and delight, and a new hunger, one that seemed to swallow Rosie whole. She was smiling too, a huge grin that finally barred pearly, sharp teeth. 

Lord Morgan lifted his head from her breasts once again, groaning, “I suppose you’re right. If we want her to stay, we must treat her with the utmost care and devotion. Hmm, but she smells so  _ good, _ ” with this, he buried his face in her neck, sharp pin pricks dancing their way across her skin, threatening to bite. 

Rosie groaned, and melted even further into their embrace. Gods, why was she suddenly so warm? All the heat seemed to flow downwards, pooling in her core. 

Lady Diana smacked him across the head, “Oh,  _ wait, _ you heathen. We want to do this properly, at least get her into bed before you maul her!”

“Yes, dear,” he said contritely, and carried Rosie, skirts and all, across the hall into the bedchamber. It was exactly as she remembered, the large bed a mountain of soft blankets and cushions, and she was set very gently down on it before Lord Morgan crawled over her once again. 

“He _ llo, _ dear,” he smirked, and she could feel the ghost of his breath across her face, pleasantly cool as the rest of him.

“Hi... “ she whispered back, eyes wide, still not sure what to do with herself, still not sure this wasn’t some sort of dream.

Another shadow loomed over her as Lady Diana appeared at her husband’s shoulder, her hands beginning to slide under his clothing, slowly undressing him before her eyes. Rosie watched, rapt, as more and more of Lord Morgan was revealed. Lady Diana unwound the cravat and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it off from behind. He let this happen in a gesture that spoke of years upon years of practice. Lord Morgan did the same, hands reaching around the back of his wife’s dress and unlacing it.

Rosie’s eyes were still wide, glued to every motion the pair made, slowly divesting each other of their clothing. They wrapped further around each other, and she was content to watch as these two beautiful, otherworldly creatures put on such an erotic display. 

Lord Morgan had his face buried in her neck when Diana looked down at her with hooded eyes and said, “Come here, darling, you look so lonely,” and beckoned forward with one long finger. 

Gulping, Rosie rose up on her knees, reaching tentatively towards the outstretched hand. Diana grabbed it and wound it around her husband’s shoulders, up the back of his neck so her fingers rested in his silky hair. “He likes when you pull it,” Diana said with a mischievous grin.

Rosie curled her fingers tighter into his hair, and gave a gentle, experimental tug. To her surprise, his head tipped back easily, and let out a loud moan, eyes slipped shut in pleasure. Lady Diana used this opportunity to lean closer and attack his neck, and Rosie watched as her sharp, white teeth raised pink, beading scratches that faded seconds after. 

“Horrible woman,” Morgan breathed, eyes still closed in bliss, “Giving away all my secrets. And you,” now his gaze met Rosie’s, “ _ Using _ them against me, how cruel. Perhaps I’ll have to return the favor.”

In another burst of inhuman speed, she found herself on his lap, back against his chest, arms held back and out of the way by his own. His cool lips mouthed at her shoulder, sure to leave vivid marks the next day. The hardness she had felt in the hallway was still there, pressing against her rear. Diana crawled forward, impossibly graceful and alien, grasping her face with two hands and bringing their lips together in a kiss.

Rosie felt her lips part without a token of protest. As the other woman tilted her face for a deeper angle, she let out a groan at the dual sensations. Diana’s hands (at least she thinks they are, it's becoming increasingly difficult to tell who’s where) smooth up and down the front of her dress, over her breasts, pausing to give a playful squeeze, before moving to settle at her hips. One continues further to rest on her thigh, playing with the edge of her stocking.

She felt Lord Morgan’s hands guide her own to rest on his wife’s hips, and a murmur in her ear, “Keep them there, darling, won’t you?” She nodded breathlessly, smoothing her palms up and down the curves of Diana’s waist. In the meantime, Lord Morgan picked at the fastenings of her outer gown, loosening it gradually and allowing the shell of it to fall away from her torso. Slowly, they maneuvered her out of it entirely, leaving her only in her stays and petticoat.

Clever, cool lips work their way down her neck again, leaving sharp, tingling pinpricks of sensation. Rosie gasped into Lady Diana’s mouth, she had never known her neck was so  _ sensitive. _ “Oh, darling, look at her lovely flush, it  _ does  _ go all the way down.” Lord Morgan’s fingers dipped below the edge of her stays, finding a nipple and tugging gently. She gasped and arched into the sensation. Diana pulled away from her neck for a moment, a look of glee on her face.

“So it does,” and began to unfasten her stays the rest of the way. She took the nipple not occupied by her husband’s fingers into her mouth, pulling the stiff garment away from her torso. Rosie moaned aloud, as wanton as a whore, and leaned back into the solid chest of Lord Morgan behind her. He chuckled, bringing his free hand back up to her hair, gently tugging her head to the side. Nosing along the thin skin just under the line of her jaw, he seemed to breathe in heavily, as if savoring some fine aroma. 

“Darling, she smells heavenly, can’t I have a taste? You’ve kept us waiting for so long.” 

Diana, at her breast, looked up and sighed as if exasperated with a child. “Oh, you’re worse than a fledgling, so impatient for your meals. But very well, save something for me though.” 

As dizzy and flushed as she was with desire, Rosie still had enough wherewithal to know that didn’t sound good. She opened her mouth to protest, or ask a question, when the warning little pinpricks of his teeth fully sunk into her neck.

She gasped in pain, but only for a second. The sharp, piercing pain vanished, leaving only a spreading warmth that made her head fuzzy and muddled, going limp and boneless in Lord Morgan’s arms. Distantly, she felt her head fall back onto his shoulder, her vision swimming between the deep green canopy above the bed and darkness. She felt herself grow heavier and heavier, until even her eyelids became too weighty to keep open. At the edge of her awareness, strong arms lowered her onto the pillows, laying her gently to rest on her back.

She drifted there for a while, blinking slowly up at the ceiling, not really seeing it at all, and listening to the muffled conversation of her hosts over the rush of blood in her ears.

Some time later, Rosie lifted her head to glance over to where Lady Diana was seated on Morgan’s lap, riding him slowly. She had shed her remaining clothing, as had he, and they both moved together so fluidly, so gracefully, it didn’t really feel as crude as watching two people have sex, it felt like watching a beautiful dance.

Lady Diana’s head was tilted back, eyes closed in pleasure, with her husband’s mouth working at her neck, leaving the same marks he had at Rosie’s. She shifted, sitting up slightly though her head was still a bit fuzzy. Diana’s eyes opened to slits, watching her a lazy sort of hunger. “Darling,” she said breathily, “It would appear we have a voyeur.”

“Hmm,” Morgan hummed, face still buried in his wife’s neck, “I suppose we ought to do something about that.”

“Come here, lovely.” Lady Diana beckoned to her with an elegant finger, “How are you feeling, dear? Not too dizzy, I hope?”

Oh  _ gods, _ her eyes were so deep and dark, they seemed to pull her in. Rosie found herself gazing into them, moving closer without a care for anything else, not even the dull ache in her neck or spinning head distracting her. “No, milady,” she found herself whispering, then, tumbling from her lips before she could censor herself, “You’re so beautiful.” 

“Thank you my dear,” the other woman laughed sweetly, still rocking her hips in time with her husband’s. She really was beautiful. Full, smooth breasts, lovely toned stomach and waist that flowed effortlessly into softly curved hips and ass. Her perfect chestnut hair was falling in waves about her head, taken down from its earlier elegant updo. It was a marvel to watch them move together. “Would you like to touch?” Lady Diana reached out a hand to bring her closer and Rosie accepted. 

Diana placed her hand on her breast, and directed the other to rest low on her back, just above the swell of her ass. Her skin was still cool against Rosie’s skin. Gently, Rosie fondled the breast in her hand, Diana arching into it, sighing softly. Her eyes slipped back closed. Not sure of what else to do, Rosie leaned forward and took the nipple into her mouth. It had felt nice when Diana had done it to her, she supposed.

“ _ Oh, _ ” she purred in response, arching further, pressing her chest closer to Rosie’s face. A strong hand reached around and gripped the back of Rosie’s skull, winding into her hair, and pressing her closer, leaving her no room to move. By this point, she was nearly wedged between the two of them. Somewhere above her, she heard Diana whisper, “Darling, she’s so  _ warm. _ ”

“And she tastes  _ exquisite, _ ” came the low rumble of Lord Morgan’s voice from her other side. She felt another hand, larger than the Lady’s, reach around her own waist and rest there, fingertips goosebumping the delicate skin there. Rosie kept at her task, focusing on pleasing Lady Diana. She sucked the nipple farther into her mouth before releasing it and moving to kiss and lick the delicate skin on the underside of the breast. Above her, Diana let out another sigh, and Rosie smiled against her flesh.

Lord Morgan’s hand slipped down her side, under her thigh and crept towards her dripping center.  _ Oh, _ she hadn’t even realized the arousal pooling there, but  _ everything _ was warm and throbbing and so very sensitive and ready to be touched. His fingers danced over the delicate skin of her inner thigh and brushed over the curls at her center. Rosie gasped, and her hips twitched suddenly, without her control.

“Diana, dear,” came Lord Morgan’s low voice once more, “She’s positively dripping, would you mind?”

“I suppose not.” The hand in her hair pulled her away from Diana’s breast, and she couldn’t help but look up into the other woman’s eyes. With her mouth hanging open like this, eyes wide, hair mussed and cheeks red, she surely looked  _ horribly  _ debauched, but couldn’t find it in herself to care.

There was a slick sound as Lady Diana pulled herself off Lord Morgan’s cock and knelt upright, towering over Rosie, who at this point was almost prone. “You’re such a little treasure aren’t you,” she cooed, and directed her head towards the center of her legs.

The curls there were neatly trimmed, dark and musky against her face, and Diana kept pressing. Tentatively, she parted the outer lips with her nose and licked. Diana let out a pleased sound, encouraging her to go further. She did so, this time lapping wider with the flat of her tongue, feeling skin coarse with hair give way to softer, more delicate petals. It was salty against her tongue. 

Somewhere in all of this, Lord Morgan’s hand now rested on the small of her back, pressing an unyielding weight, keeping her hips on the bed. His other hand found its way between her legs and gently parted her own lower lips. Rosie tried to buck at the sensation, but his hand kept her firmy pinned to the bed.

At the murmured praises of Lady Diana, Rosie grew bolder, learning as she went. Working her jaw, she licked and devoured the whole of Diana’s folds. She found the other woman’s grip got tighter in her hair when she paid special attention to the small bud near the top, sucking it into her mouth as far as she was able.

Lord Morgan’s fingers dipped further into her own center, teasing up and down her folds, just avoiding the places she needed it most, until she felt so engorged and wet she would have been humping the bed if not for his hand on her back, pinning her down. Finally, he dipped further, circling her hole, rubbing around the rim teasingly even as it seemed to flex and wink for some sort of stimulation.

Rosie whined, high and in the back of her throat, into Lady Diana’s center. Her hips bucked against her face at this, the vibrations rippling through the delicate flesh there. She ground further onto Rosie’s face, breaths hitching and coming faster now, murmuring praises. 

“ _ Fuck, _ yes, you’re so good. Oh darling, just there,  _ yes. _ You’re doing so well.” Her voice was still low and rich, sighing out into the room.

Rosie hummed in acknowledgement, prompting another slow grind against her mouth. Then she nearly yelped as Lord Morgan finally penatrated her. Slowly, working one finger into her and gently curling to reach a spot inside her that nearly sent her into convulsions. Her hips would have leapt off the bed if not for his hand. 

Diana was now rocking with fervor against her face, gasping out more and more praises. “ _ Yes _ , just like that. Nearly there, just a little more. You can do this, you’re  _ so _ good at this darling, that  _ mouth _ . Oh, the things we’re going to do to you.”

Rosie pulled the tiny bud into her mouth one last time, sucking gently and that seemed to be all it took. Diana’s hand tightened almost painfully into her hair, and the folds against her mouth seemed to twitch and seize, fluttering against her lips and tongue. Her face was pressed so tight against the Lady’s center that for a moment, Rosie feared she might suffocate. Finally, as it was becoming uncomfortable, Diana drew her head away from her center and tilted her up to face her.

Rosie felt the lower half of her face was smeared with fluid, red-faced and panting, feeling her own chest heave up and down as if she’d just run a mile. The lady looked down on her, a huge grin spread across her face, panting slightly, but without sweat or any blush from exertion herself. “You darling, wonderful girl. You did beautifully. I suppose I’ll have to return the favor.”

At this point, Lord Morgan now had two fingers inside her, still pressing them against that spot inside her. He spoke up, “Certainly, I’ve got her all warmed up for you, darling.” The pressure on the small of her back let up, and Roise found herself rolled onto her back.

Lady Diana moved like some large cat, crawling down the bed to where her husband sat. They exchanged a sweet kiss, before she took his place between her legs. Diana dragged herself forward, somehow making the motion look graceful and refined, nipples dragging against the bedspread, until her face was inches away from Rosie’s core. Her hands ran up her calves, folding one leg up and over her shoulder, keeping one pinned to the bed with an iron grip. She brushed the tip of her nose along her inner thigh, as if smelling some fine perfume there. Her skin tingled. The Lady’s beautiful dark eyes flicked up to Rosie’s face, captivating and she found she could not look away. Diana smiled wickedly, and plunged her face into Rosie’s folds.

Rosie gasped, and would have arched right off the bed if not for Lord Morgan’s hands on her shoulders again. His fingers had been nice, but  _ this. _ It was cool and wet against her achingly hot folds, simultaneously quenching the heat that burned there and stoking it higher. She licked her from top to bottom, sucking on her own bud, and slipping two fingers into her at the same time. 

Rosie cried out, gasping and shaking. She thought she’d been loud earlier, that was nothing. “Ah!” she gasped, making small, choked off noises that she hoped were not loud enough to be heard downstairs.  _ Oh _ , she hoped they had all gone home, or just far enough away so as not overhear her being driven to new heights of pleasure. 

Somehow, Lord Morgan seemed to read her mind. “They can all hear you,” he whispered in her ear, voice like silk and snakeskin, “Those lovely little cries, singing like a dove. They know what we’re doing to you, and they’re all  _ horribly jealous. _ ” He reached down to pluck at her nipple, pinching it between his fingers, “They all  _ wish _ they had someone as lovely and sweet and soft as you, someone to drive the years away with. And yet you’re here with us, making such  _ sounds. _ They’d steal you right away from us if they could, pluck you right from our arms, and simply  _ ravish _ you.” He began to nibble behind her ear, his cool breath sending goosebumps along her neck, “Such a darling little flower, taken away forever.” With one particularly good thrust of Diana’s fingers within her, Rosie cried out once more. “ _ Yes, _ just like that, show them who you belong to.” 

Rosie felt herself beginning to tense up, pleasure building within her. Diana’s head was bobbing between her legs, sucking and rubbing against her clit, rubbing that  _ damned  _ spot inside her, and the filthy things being whispered in her ear, all began to build. Morgan reached down and pinched her other nipple, and that last bit of _ pleasurepain _ was enough to send her crashing over the edge. 

She uttered a choked cry, spine arching, vision going white and dark at the same time, her walls fluttering and clamping around Diana’s fingers inside her. At the same time, there was another sharp, stabbing pain at her inner thigh, but she was too far away, flying on some sort of golden tide to pay much mind to it. The same spreading warmth from earlier flooded her leg, and up into her core as well, relaxing her further into Lord Morgan’s hold, somehow making her orgasm even  _ better. _

This time, there was no fuzzy awareness whatsoever, and she drifted lazily, walls fluttering slightly still, for gods know how long. When Rosie finally surfaced, her core felt buzzy and relaxed. In fact, her whole body was limp and boneless. Her shoulders were propped up in Lord Morgan’s lap, her face inches away from his erection. Lazily, she pressed her lips to it, mouthing along the shaft. 

His hands were gentle in her hair, carding through it in slow, even strokes, and he sighed when she kissed his erection. “You were amazing, love,  _ stunning _ ,” he murmured. Vaguely, Rosie felt a wet sensation against her thigh, and roller her head on a boneless neck to look at what was going on between her legs.

Lady Diana was licking at a slowly weeping set of puncture marks in her thigh, about where the femoral artery would be. Her lips were stained carmine, one leg still hiked high over her shoulder. She must have felt Rosie’s gaze on her, because she glanced up, winked, and licked long and slow over the wound, keeping eye contact the whole time.

Rosie groaned and felt her whole center throb again with want, and let her head flop back to Lord Morgan’s lap. Her chest was still heaving, breasts rising up and down with exertion. “If you’re looking to eat me, this would be the best way to go. I think,” she panted, “I might see why this house has a reputation. Are you in the habit of ensnaring everyone who comes to your door?”

“No dear, just the lovely ones who smell as sweet as you,” Morgan grinned down at her, teeth lovely and white. “The other ones do get eaten though, just not as wonderfully.” The predator edge in his eyes and smile told her he spoke the truth.

“So you sit in this lovely mansion and wait for people to call upon you, and have your way with them then?” 

He smiled above her, softer now. “Certainly. Anything to pass the time. We get so very bored and lonesome without a passtime.” He stroked the healing puncture marks he’d made in her neck earlier, soothing over the sore flesh. “It  _ is _ nice to meet with friends and have these dinners, but their faces become boring and filled with sameness after a while. So we need lovely things like you,” he pinched the apple of her cheek like some wizened old grandmother, “to keep things  _ interesting. _ ” 

Still breathless, Rosie said, “I hope I’m suitable, my lord. I would hate to think you went to such trouble, and not to be worth your time.” She was still drifting, floating out of her head, and this made her bold, turning her head to mouth at his cock once more, keeping eye contact with him the whole time.

He groaned, throwing his head back, but his hand tightened in her hair once more, encouraging her to keep going. Now, Rosie certainly hadn’t taken a husband, nor kissed too many men to gain a reputation, but the women at the bakery liked to talk as they worked, and well, you heard things. She wasn’t completely clueless about what to do with a cock.

Rosie pulled herself up on an elbow, propping herself up to give some extra height. With Diana still rested between her legs, she couldn’t fully twist about, and the angle was awkward. Still, she was able to take the head into her mouth, running her tongue along the wide vein on the underside, bobbing her head slightly. Her hand wrapped around the part she could not reach with her mouth.

Morgan’s hips bucked, once, twice, before he got control of them again. “You  _ imp _ . You’ve had us all believe you’re some sweet, wide-eyed maid, and here you are, stating my wife and sucking my cock like a two-bit whore.” The hand wound tighter in her hair, and Rosie redoubled her efforts, relishing the burn. “Call  _ us _ tricksters, luering you here; you’re about to swallow my soul. You must be some fae creature to enchant us so easily-” he cut himself off with a choked gasp, hips jerking again, causing her to choke slightly as the tip hit the back of her throat.

“Ah..sorry darling,” he said, and pulled her off, “I’m afraid if you keep doing that, I’ll spoil myself for the main event.”

At this, his wife spoke up from where she had clearly been enjoying the show Rosie’d been putting on, eyes dark and shining with interest, one hand lazily circling her clit, “Oh yes, Morgan, dear, if she is to stay, we can’t have her thinking you can’t take care of her.”

“Yes, my love,” he said demurely, as if only agreeing that it might rain tomorrow, “Sit up, darling, won’t you?” and drew Rosie up from her reclined position, one hand splayed across one whole side of her face. He drew her closer, for a kiss.

He tasted of iron, tart and bitter fruit, and honey, his lips soft and cool and pillowed against her own. He devoured her like he had before, not biting or feeding from her, but with the same command and force so there could be no mistaking who was in charge.

Rosie felt herself fall easily into his embrace, barely noticing as he pulled her into his lap. They were so close, his arms so strong and powerful, it was like dancing with an unfamiliar lead at a party. She could move or touch or squirm as she liked, but only as far as he allowed. 

And she did. Rosie ran her hands along the smooth planes of Lord Morgan’s chest and shoulders, up and down his flanks and back, feeling the play of muscle and skin over bone, all cool and unyielding as stone, and remembered what Lady Diana had said about his hair. She smoothed up the back of his neck, one hand fisting in the hair at the base of the skull and wrenching his head to the side, sloting their mouths closer.

She felt and heard the rumbling groan that rippled from his chest and throat. “You  _ devil _ ! You always manage to surprise me,” he rumbled into her own throat, and ground his hips up. Now she became more aware of his erection sliding between them, nestled in the space between their hips where her legs wrapped around his waist. The already copious dampness sticking her thighs together became wetter.

Cool hands settled at her waist, sharp pricking fingernails tip-tapping at her skin. In her ear, Lady Diana’s voice purred, “You’re being naughty, darling Rosie. Perhaps you ought to learn to keep your hands to yourself.” Those same hands spun her around in her husband’s lap, with inhuman speed untangling her from his embrace. At the same time, Lord Morgan hooked his legs over her own, locking them into place, and pinning her arms neatly behind her as well. 

Now, Diana took her husband’s cock in hand, and with his help, guided him into Rosie’s center. She groaned as she was allowed to settle onto it, glad for the thorough stretching she’d received earlier.  _ Gods, _ but it was so good. Spreading and finding places she hadn’t known existed, so much wider and thicker and  _ longer _ than any fingers, cool enough to soothe the burn as she sunk fully onto him.

Her head flopped back against his shoulder, panting and gasping once more, her walls fluttering and twitching around the intrusion. The position, with her hands held back and out of the way, caused her to arch her back, thrusting her chest forward, breasts heaving with each heavy breath. 

Lady Diana’s eyes seemed to fix on them, and reached forward with a wicked grin, flicking and pulling the peaked nipples. Rosie whined, and tried half-heartedly to escape her torment, but was held fast, pinned to Lord Morgan’s lap, spread wide and helpless before the pair of them.

Now her own hips were starting to hitch again, and Morgan took this as his cue to slowly thrust upward into her tight, clutching heat. Rosie gasped, another choked cry leaving her lips at the slow drag and pull of his cock rocking slowly within her. He began to speed up until she was nearly bouncing on his lap.

Rosie had modest breasts, perfect handfuls, a lady at the shop had said, but  _ lord, _ they seemed to bounce as if they were twice their usual size. Lady Diana seemed to love this, holding the nipple in place and letting the bounce do the work for her, Rosie whining as her delicate flesh pulled taught with every thrust. She was winding higher and higher, the sharp, stinging  _ painpleasure _ at her chest zapping down to pool in her center, the rough thrusting hips beneath her own pounding into her.

Her cries began to increase in volume and interval until she was making soft little, “ _ hah...hah… _ ” noises with every thrust. She felt her walls begin to draw closer, tensing in anticipation. Lord Morgan seemed to feel this, redoubling his efforts, his own grunts and sighs increasing in fervor. Diana, glittering dark eyes never missing a trick, reached between Rosie’s thighs once more, clever fingers finding the stiff little bud and rubbing it in tight little circles, giving her nipple another firm tweak.

That was it. Rosie let out a strangled cry, cunt clamping down on the cock inside her, arms and legs spasming in their holds. Her near stranglehold on his cock caused Lord Morgan to tense up as well, and she felt another flood of liquid within her before Diana did something especially good with the hand still manipulating her clit and she tensed even harder, vision going fuzzy, ears filled with the rush of blood, pulsing with pleasure.  _ Oh, _ but it felt so  _ good _ to clench around something solid within her.

Finally, when Rosie came back down, her back still pressed against Morgan’s chest, both of them laying on their sides, with Diana pressed up against her front, breasts pressed snugly together. “Hmmg?” she said eloquently.

“Look what you did, you oaf, you’ve broken her. She can’t even speak now, what are we to do with that?” Diana chided her husband, though smug mirth was clear in her voice. Her clever fingers still prickled low on Rosie’s belly, just above where her curls started. Rosie shivered at the sensation.

“Me?” Morgan replied, mock affronted, “You were the one who kept toying with her after she came. If anyone’s to blame, it’s you, you beast.” 

“Honestly,” Diana tsked, but ran a hand over Rosie’s disheveled hair, “How are you feeling dear?”

“Hmm,” she hummed, but eventually said, “ _ Wow, _ ” twining an arm around Diana’s waist.

“I take it that’s good,” Lord Morgan’s deep voice chuckled. Somebody drew a blanket over the three of them, and Rosie snuggled deeper between the two, pressing her face into the crook of Diana’s neck and rubbing her backside into Morgan’s crotch. He groaned, but didn’t shy away from the contact, instead throwing a leg over her hip and pulling her closer to his chest.

“I do hope we’ve convinced you to stay?” Diana mused, though she clearly knew the answer.

“For as long as you’ll have me,” Rosie said, muzzy with sleep, fading fast.

“We’ll discuss that on the morrow. For now, sleep, darling, you’ve earned it. But rest assured, we’re not going to argue against it.”

Rosie felt herself falling deeper and deeper into darkness, heavy blankets and cool bodies keeping her safe all night long.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, Diana and Morgan are kind of inspired by Lord and Lady Briarwood from campaign 1 of Critical Role. They're so charismatic and spooky I'm kind of sad there wasn't any more flirting than that one scene with Vax lmao. Anyway thanks for reading <3


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